


Lemons and Everything.

by FightingTheAngels



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, I don't know how to tag it, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, it's complicated - Freeform, kind of?, more au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FightingTheAngels/pseuds/FightingTheAngels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lemons. John could smell lemons. He was never sure exactly where it came from but it was always there when Will was.<br/>~~~~~<br/>John finds the biggest surprise of his life– this life– on his boyfriend's bookshelf.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lemons and Everything.

Lemons. John could smell lemons. He was never sure exactly where it came from but it was always there when Will was. Faintly behind it were other, equally intoxicating smells. Cigarette smoke. Books. Something John would love to immerse himself in and never emerge from.  
He looked around, removing his face from the pillow he lay on, wishing he could stay there forever. The bed he lay in was big. Big as a bed in a college dorm can be. He assumed Will’s parents pulled some strings to get it like this. Get him his own room. John wasn't complaining, however. He would much rather be here than in his own dorm across campus.  
Out of context, this might seem bad. John waking up in the bed of another person, said person being his boyfriend, both of them barely dressed. (Will especially. He was in the shower.) The situation wasn't like how most would think, though. They hadn't done anything but sleep in each other's arms. Hell, they hadn't even been together long. Four months coming next week. John was never the type to move so quickly.  
He yawned and stretched his arms, feeling the sunlight creeping through the curtains dance over his fingers. He pushed himself off of the bed and put on his pajama pants. He was glad it was the weekend and he had stayed over, because he and Will had wanted to get their homework out of the way to increase the time they got to spend together. He smiled to himself, as he often did, thinking of him.  
Will was tall. The most charming smile graced his angular face, which was almost framed by messy dark curls. As for his eyes, John couldn't pick a color to describe them. They were an ocean after a storm. The eye of every hurricane and the world John got lost in regularly.  
He figured Will would take a while in the shower; he always did. So, to pass the time, John started sifting through his bookshelves. Will had a large collection and John knew this wasn't half of it. These three, short shelves held what Will considered his favorites.  
John walked past, running his fingers along the spine of the books before settling on one. The biggest one, it seemed, was titled Everything. John carried it to the windowsill and stood near it, opening the curtains slightly for better lighting.  
It didn't take long for John to realize that it wasn't a book. Not the kind he had expected, anyway. The leather-bound book had uneven pages and was written on with handwriting John recognized as Will’s. John slowly opened the scrapbook to the last page used, which had a sticky note on it, which he got Will into obsessively using. (They covered almost everything he owned.) He grinned broadly and ran his finger around the picture of them, carefully placed into the album, dated November 2077. He slowly turned the page back, expecting another picture of them.  
One could say he wasn't wrong.  
John was shocked to see two men who looked just like them. The resemblance was uncanny, the taller man, a carbon copy of Will smiling with his arm around the shorter, who reminded John of himself. He almost thought it was them. Almost. But that was impossible. It was dated 2013. John wasn't even alive in 2013.  
He continued to flip through. Picture after picture of them, them, them. This was them, this wasn't them. John didn't know. 1975. 1887. 1736. It couldn't be, it couldn't-  
John saw a flash, a light. Jesus, his head. The sounds of Will showering became faint as he stumbled backward. He remembered Sherlock. Just that name, Sherlock, over and over. He remembered times he wasn't alive to remember, wars he never fought himself. Not this him. John was only in college. He remembered mysteries and a blog. A blog? He remembered smoke and books. He remembered lemons. His head pounded as all of these things crossed it, too much for him to handle as he felt a dull pain, his head hitting the ground. Distant screaming. It took him a while to realize the screams were his own. John. Watson. No, no. His name was John Tresse. This was insane. Impossible.  
He screamed. That name. He screamed Sherlock and he soon felt his head being pulled into someone's lap. Will. Sherlock. He felt the hair smooth out of his face before he closed his eyes, trying to force the throbbing pain away. Will kissed his forehead and held him. Sherlock held him. John barely understood.  
The pictures.  
John broke out of Will's embrace and opened his eyes, rolling towards the book, unable to sit up. He opened it to a random page, any page. The second to last. 2013.  
It was him. The man in the jumper. It had to be. He could hardly remember but somehow he knew. That was Will. Sherlock. Whoever. That was him.  
All John could think of was lemons before he laid down on the floor and lost consciousness.  
Sherlock.  
John awoke again to the smell of lemons, the pain in his head now only a memory. He decided lemon was his favorite scent. As he sat up, he saw Will sitting at the foot of the bed, legs crossed. His elbows rested on this thighs and his hands, pressed together as if in prayer, he held just under his chin. He stared blankly at the picture book that had sent John into whatever sort of fit that was, eyes glazed over. John moved forward, worried, hardly able to see the rise and fall of Will's chest. He almost jumped when will spoke.  
“When we first met, you were John Watson. The name has come up since. You've been John Watson three times since the beginning. You've been John six times. I've always wondered how that is chosen, but I never asked. I just waited for you.” Will spoke softly, but firmly, as if he was delivering a speech. He picked up the book and his low voice resonated through John.  
John didn't know what to say, so he nodded slowly, relaxing and hoping Will would continue. He knew this. He remembered this.  
“You met me as Sherlock. I went by Sherlock. I change it up every now and then but it's always similar. When you're John Watson, I'm Sherlock Holmes. I didn't lie to you. About my name, that is. My full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes. And I-” He laughed, bringing the book to his chest. “I never thought you'd remember.” John could see tears fall down his cheeks. “All these years, all of me loving you, every time. You're everything. And you finally remember that.”  
“I do,” John managed to get out, trying to steady his voice.  
“I love you.” Sherlock spoke softly, almost a whisper, as if they hadn't said it before. He'd said it to this John many times, but every John so many more.  
“I know,” John whispered back to him. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this I really appreciate comments and if you have any requests, just tell me and I'll try!


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